Damn Sherlock
by Vous Etes Aimes
Summary: When Irene Adler drugs Sherlock Holmes, John Watson finds out what it is like to have a drugged Sherlock on top of him. Johnlock. One Shot.


This story is dedicated to vampirebyforcenotchoice!

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"Damn Sherlock," John Watson grumbled as he walked down the hall, towards Sherlock's bedroom. Irene Adler drugged the overgrown child of a detective who John ended up carting home and up the stairs. He had just tucked Sherlock into his bed – that John was sure he never used – and left to make a cup of tea. Not even five minutes later, Sherlock was calling his name followed by the echo of something heavy hitting the floor.

That something most likely being Sherlock.

Twisting the doorknob, he opened the door and quickly glanced around the barely lit room. Sprawled on the floor lay a drugged Sherlock, who tried his best to sit up but only falling over in a heavy heap again.

"John," Sherlock groaned out in such a way that made John blush, but he quickly dismissed this and went to his companion's side. "Make the room stop spinning." Sherlock whined as John got a grip on both of his arms and pulled him to his feet.

What happened next came as a surprise.

John had had his back facing the bed when he had Sherlock standing. Not even a second later, Sherlock's legs gave out and he fell forward onto John who fell back onto the bed. The wind knocked out of John and a blush creeping up his neck, he attempted to push off the dead weight that was Sherlock, but he was not moving.

"Sherlock," John breathed out, blushing even more at his own voice. He turned his head trying to look at Sherlock's face, but found soft, raven black curls instead. He felt himself squirm as he took a shallow breath and tried to free himself. "Sherlock, do you think you can move?"

A disgruntled grunt sounded next to his ear as Sherlock attempted to turn his head and ended up pressing his face to John's neck instead. The low grumble of Sherlock's voice traveled through John's chest in a reply, "John," Sherlock paused. "If I could… but… calm down…"

John filled in the blanks with, "_If I could, I would, but I can't, so you need to calm down." _How could he calm down in such a situation? His drugged flat mat was laying on top of him, breathing hot air into his neck and _on top of him god damnit! _

"Your thoughts are so loud," Sherlock mumbled, nose pressed under the curve of John's jaw.

"Well, if I was lying on top of you, you would be thinking loud thoughts too," John grumbled, blush deepening as Sherlock's low laughter rumbled against his chest and up his neck.

"I wouldn't know… I've never had that."

John gaped at the ceiling.

"Stop thinking, go to sleep," Sherlock grumbled, pushing his nose into John's neck and letting out a deep breath. He said something else but John could not understand what it was.

He closed his eyes, willing his mind to wander elsewhere. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep, dreaming of other things that most "straight" men would not.

John woke a few hours later, chest aching and stiff along with the rest of his body. The room was dark, the only source of light being the sun that was about to come up. Crack of dawn, feeling as if he had been run over by a truck, John turned over, whining at the sharp pains, and came face to face with a wide eyed Sherlock.

"Drugs wore off," Sherlock's deep morning voice mumbled. "I can move my arms but I still can't function correctly, but I'll be fine soon."

John stared at him for a few moments before rolling onto his stomach and stretching his arms in front of him. "I feel awful." He yawned out, flinching as parts of his body cracked.

"Says the man who wasn't drugged." Sherlock's voice giving John goose bumps.

"Says the man who had a drugged man fall asleep on him." Both men started laughing. It vibrated through their chests, cutting into the early morning with ease. Giggles continued long after it had ended.

John lay still; face buried in his arm as he continued to take deep, steady breaths, a smile spread across his lips. He could feel Sherlock staring at him, scorching gaze traveling over him, picking him apart, layer by layer. Moving his arm so that it lay in between them, John stared back.

"You know, you may be skinny, but you are one heavy git, right?" John murmured eyes unblinking as he slowly licked his lips. Sherlock seemed to be interested in this.

"I think that's what being drugged and immobile does to you," Sherlock replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Moving a bit closer to John, Sherlock placed his hand on John, slightly exposed hipbone. "Are you sure?"

"Are you suggesting that I retest this theory?" John slowly swallowed, throat suddenly dried.

"Oh god yes." And leaning forward, Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's lips, his fingers trailing up John's side to cup the back of his neck, deepening it.

Pulling away, John muttered against Sherlock's lips, "I'm not gay."

With a chuckle, Sherlock leaned forward, silencing John once more.


End file.
